Warning: There is sexual content ahead.
Francis Bonnefoy was a man who devoutly believed in the power of true love. As the personification of France, how could he not? He believed in freedom, beauty, truth, and love, especially love. In his many centuries on this earth, he had fallen in love three times, despite the heartache he knew was sure to follow.
The first to enter his life had been Jeanne. Jeanne had been an angel, and had stolen is heart before he had even grasped what was happening. She loved her country, but her true love was the Lord. It pained him, being so close to her, and yet so far from her. When England lit her aflame, he felt as if his very soul were being ripped to pieces. There was no way to describe his agony, the level of his pain, and the hatred he felt for the Englishman.
It was the one of the only times in his life that he had openly wept and meant each tear.
The next to claim his heart had been from Austria, one of the ladies-in-waiting for the intrigu